Harry Potter and the Nation of Gringotts
by Lingua Maniac
Summary: After the death of Voldemort and his elevation to Minister of Magic, Minister Shacklebolt appointed Harry Potter the Inquisitor for Death Eaters. Now, a year later, Harry wants out. He will return to Hogwarts in September. But with the Triwizard Tournament returning to Hogwarts and everyone demanding his attention, can Harry truly have a quiet year? (Full Description Inside).
**Author's Notes:**

This is mostly canon-compatible. All changes to canon are small, such as renaming the Department of International _Magical_ Cooperation simply the Department of International Cooperation. Things like that. This will be about 250,000 words full length, of which only about 50,000 are now written.

I will update this fic the first week of every month. Right now, I have five chapters written, four of which are already posted on the Dark Lord Potter forums. If you want to get a headstart there (and give me beta-level feedback!), I look forward to it. This fic is incalculably better because of their criticism.

 **Full Description:**

Shortly after the death of Voldemort and his elevation to Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt appointed Harry Potter the Inquisitor for Death Eaters. Now, a year later, the Inquisition is winding down. The Death Eaters and their sympathizers are in jail, the ministry is mostly up and running, and Harry Potter wants out. Sick of the ministry and sick of being famous, he will return to Hogwarts in September to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and get away from the world. But with the Triwizard Tournament returning to Hogwarts and everyone – his students, reporters, the Minister, and goblins – demanding Harry's attention, can he truly have a quiet year away from his fame?

 **Harry Potter and the Nation of Gringotts**

Brave men may not live forever, but cautious men do not live at all.

Anon.

 **Chapter One:**

 **The Last Death Eaters**

 _It has been almost two months since the end of The War. Two months spent in discoveries, of homes burnt, friends lost, and families sundered. After the Battle of Hogwarts there was the Battle for the Ministry. After that, the Battle of Winchester Hill. The old ministry was resurrected and every day brings the chance of discovering that a cherished member of the ministry survived or news that one has been lost forever. Only two weeks ago was I reunited with my daughter. The Death Eaters kidnapped her last Easter for reasons and suspicions only too well known by us all. Every day discovers horror._

 _It has been almost two months since the end of The War and there are many things left unresolved. Can the Wizengamot function at its quarter-strength? Will those acting with the consent of the Death Eater's ministry be charged? How many Death Eaters have escaped? Who will track them down, with the Aurors all but dead? These and more, we cannot yet know. But one thing is quite certain. Although He Who Might Now Be Named is truly dead, none of us feel like celebrating as we did November 1, 1981. We are a nation rudderless and shattered._

 _Despite these shadows, Acting Minister Shacklebolt, a man universally expected to succeed to full office, yesterday announced welcome news, what might be the beginning of light and the beginning of answers. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and The Man Who Won, has been named Death Eater Inquisitor. This appointment, confirmed unanimously by the surviving Wizengamot, will take effect on Mr. Potter's eighteenth birthday (July 31 of this year). Mr. Potter spoke to_ The Daily Prophet _(the full transcript can be found page A22) about his appointment, saying, "I wouldn't say that I was excited about the job... But it does need to be done. I probably know more about [You Know Who] and his followers than anyone. It was smart to give it to me. … That sounded horrible."_

 _Mr. Potter later said that he will be appointing Neville Longbottom (leader of the Resistance of Hogwarts) and Ronald Weasley (companion to Harry Potter during his Year of Resistance) to the Inquisitorial Taskforce. Both men distinguished themselves at the Battle of Hogwarts and the Battle of Winchester Hill and both have recently been awarded, again by a unanimous vote of the Wizengamot, The Orders of Merlin, First Class. Let us hope that Mr. Potter can pull off a miracle with his Inquisitorship as he did in his battle against You Know Who._

The Daily Prophet, _June 26, 1998, Rita Skeeter, Reporting_

 **Bishopthorpe, Yorkshire, England**

 **19:56, August 4, 1999**

Through the centre of the city of York ran the River Ouse. Cleaner than most city rivers, public parks had been built around it as it slid out of town, splitting South York in half before crouching below an overpass and then widening and meandering through a spottily filled countryside. Only about two miles South, and slightly West, sat the town of Bishopthorpe, which was wholly unremarkable except for one grand and empty house, with shudders like the eyes of hungover men, that lay half-collapsed besides the River Ouse. The old house was a curiosity. Once, long ago, an aloof family named Nott had lived there, but the house had stood empty for two or three generations. No one dared approach. Even the government bureaucrats who, the people of Bishopthorpe felt, believed it their business to make everything their business, always thought of something better to do whenever they dared to call.

Tonight, this reticence would have made the few curious of the town sad, for the old house was about to become magical. Past the barn whose roof had collapsed, and around the old swing-set overcome by moss, and through the holey fence, and past one last cusp of trees, a man appeared. He hadn't been there before, but he was there now. He wore an old-fashioned travelling cloak, its hood pulled up to obscure his face, and in his hand he carried a stick.

Raising the stick slightly, the man looked around. Seeing no one, he lowered his hood to reveal himself to be young, perhaps not out of his teens. He had a shock of black hair, cut very close on the sides but sticking up like a brush fire on top and in the back. His face was angular and impassive, which would have made him look stern but for the glow from his eyes. They looked like the leaves of an oak tree had been soaked in the sun for hours, or, as had once been said, they were the colour of fresh pickled toad. These eyes looked around the empty patch of ground again, and, still seeing nothing, the man brought two fingers to his mouth.

He blew, but no sound came out. Instead, a drum-roll of five pops beat the air and five new figures appeared. Most of these wore the same type of cloak, but only one had his hood up. There were three men and two women in the party, and they all looked around with raised sticks as had the first man. After several long breaths, the last figure lowered his hood. His hair, styled like the first man's, looked far more like a brush fire, for it was as strikingly red as the first man's eyes were green.

"Well, it's a pretty sight, I'll give the blighters that," said the man with red hair.

A woman who was by then moving to the front of the group hissed, "Weasley! Shut up. Do you want them to hear us?" The woman was the eldest of the group by an easy two decades. She wore a patch over her left eye and her straggly dirty-blonde hair in a loose ponytail.

The redhead, Weasley, brushed the admonishment away with two quick waves of his hand. "Relax Templeton, I'm sure Harry's already dropped a silencing charm around the whole area.

"Ron's right. I have," confirmed the first man. "But, if I were them, I'd be checking for magic regularly. So—"

Templeton finished for him, "We should move out directly." She looked about and then continued. "Longbottom, Williamson, keep watch behind us. I don't expect there to be reinforcements, but—"

This time she was interrupted by all five of the others. "Constant Vigilance." They all whispered the words, but by the smiles on their faces and the verve in their voices one knew that the motto was usually shouted.

Templeton, Weasley, Potter, and the second woman walked forward at a fast clip, while the other two men walked forward more slowly and turned about every now and again to check behind them. Both men were very tall. The younger one was blond and rather thin. He carried himself lightly. The other had breadth to go with his height. He, like Weasley, was a redhead, hair which he wore a ponytail. He was the only one of the six smiling. The second woman walked next to Harry, and using her curved hips like a club, knocked him a little sideways.

"It's 'If I were they,' Potter." Despite her attack and the shortness of her sentence, both her tone and her face lacked aggression.

"Thanks Sammy," he said, "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Abruptly, he put out an arm and stopped them both from walking further. The other four stopped as well.

"The wards are just before us," he said. "Get into positions."

Templeton walked further East, almost slipping down the embankment above the River Ouse. "How long, Potter?"

"I'll motion you when Samantha should start." And, with that, Harry Potter closed his eyes and stretched out his hand.

He gulped down air as he felt his fingers touch the outside of the magic. To take down magical wards, most wizards used an assortment of charms, transfiguration, and specially crafted artefacts to diagnose the elements of a ward. Harry, however, used something he had learnt from his former mentor and one-time Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. For those sensitive to magic, spaces that had known magic – wards, in other words – could be understood through the senses. It just took concentration, some cunning, and deep exposure to magic. Harry would never say so aloud, but there was no one he knew who had had more experience of magic. He marshalled his concentration and cunning as best as he could.

There was slight static, like a limb that had gone to sleep, which became more pronounced the further towards the magic Harry pushed his hand. He stuck out his tongue, walked sideways, sweeping his hand along with him, and then sniffed. The magic tasted of steel and smelt like garbage. His nose crinkled. He pushed his hand forward some more and almost dropped it. His arm had gone from sleep to coma. He tried to listen to the magic, but he couldn't hear anything.

"Well, Potter?"

"Give it time, Serene," said Samantha. "He's doing it by sense alone." Then, more to herself than anyone else, she added, "I'm still astonished – every time."

"Well, would it be faster if you did it?" Every time she asked this.

Serene Templeton was a brilliant witch, and one who understood the mechanics of magic very well. She, in fact, reminded Harry of one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. Neither had a sense of the mystery of magic or its deeper meaning, the things that another of Harry's mentors, Severus Snape, had called 'the fine distinctions of magic'. Harry opened one eye and cocked his head sideways, staring more intently at the crippled house and its shaggy yard. He tried to listen again, but heard little more than before, just a soft rumble like conversation heard through a door at the distance of a floor.

"No," said Samantha. Harry realized she was answering a question that he had forgotten had been asked. "You've seen this before, Serene."

"Yes, but how is he doing it?"

"I don't know. He tackles them differently than I do."

Of course Harry did. The problem was that most people, even otherwise quite skilled wizards, didn't seem to get how magic worked, even at its most basic level. What he did could not be quantified, it couldn't be diagrammed. It was Idea Magic. Harry dealt with depictions and equations, sure – most of his free time this past year had been spent in a Hermione-led Arithmancy crash course – but Harry also dealt with intentions and stories. It was deeper and (perhaps Harry was just biased here, but he thought also) more truthful magic.

There was a rhyme learnt by all children in the Wizarding World: 'Words well said keep the magic springs well fed'. There were not, of course, actual magical springs. It was a metaphor. Magic was meaning and the more concentrated a single word's meaning – the less it was used arbitrarily or fuzzily— the more powerfully that word carried magic. This concentration of power worked with concepts as well. The stronger a concept was felt by its caster, the more fully it was understood; the tighter the caster's control over his meaning, the stronger the magic.

Harry smiled. The Death Eaters they chased were desperate, but they didn't know magic. Their spells spoke in basic sentences and with an easy cadence. They were, in short, simply understood. "I have it," he said. "You may start, Samantha."

Samantha raised her wand and started muttering. Harry saw as the layers of her magic fell over the layers that these men had cast. Samantha was skilled enough that her spells didn't even touch the outermost walls of their wards. Only once Harry started breaking their scheme would the men inside know they were here. Harry said the rhyme again inside his head, 'Words well said keep the magic springs well fed'. It was why Samantha had corrected his grammar. He'd have to ask her to explain the rule.

Harry heard a lock slide into place, and, breathing in, he felt the must of his old cupboard. "They're solid," Samantha said, and Harry nodded. The wards were in place, and so now no one, not even… they?… could disapparate or portkey from grounds.

Harry stretched out his hand, and pushed it past and through the first tingling sensation. There was a sound like metal in a microwave and Harry felt his body jolt as if he'd been hit by electricity before both shock and the numbing of his limbs stopped. He'd gone through the Alarm Ward. Almost instantaneously, there was a loud foghorn sound. The Death Eaters would now know they were here and start erecting defences. Yet, oddly, the house stayed still.

"They're not dong anything. No defences?" This was the tall but normal sized man in the back.

"No, Neville," said Harry, who, on thinking that he still couldn't hear much of anything from the wards, knew the identity of another ward, "It's a concealment charm."

There was a trick to breaking down wards, but it was the easiest trick Harry knew. Wards were a part of magic, and, since magic was meaning, wards too were meaning, space altered by a wizard's meaning. The way to break down wards was to disrupt this meaning. One couldn't disrupt the meaning of some spells, like an alarm, because any half-decent alarm was primed against interference. But for wards like the next one, a steel tasting shield charm, the process of breaking the ward was fairly straightforward.

The shield charm would protect the entire place from anyone at all, a trespasser, a spell, even an ant. This mean that Harry and his companions couldn't even walk through the charm. But it also meant that, if the men inside the charm wanted to do more than stand in stasis, the charm had to exclude them from its meaning. 'Protect the property, but not from these men or the defences they erect.' So, Harry thought, why not add six more exceptions?

He placed his wand right up against the ward and felt the magic's need to protect the property and the house. 'We too,' Harry thought at the ward, 'wish to protect the house and the property. You should let us in.' The magic, Harry thought it was Yaxley's but couldn't quite tell, lashed out at him screaming 'enemy!' Harry whispered back quietly but quite firmly, 'No, we do wish to protect the grounds.' He pushed through his wand his desire to protect and, with a sound like six large rocks being sucked under water, the ward recognized the six of them as guests.

The next one was the ward that muffled sound and smelt like garbage. It was the concealment charm. Harry smiled wider still. Meant to repel investigation and hide truth, Harry remembered the first one he'd ever run across, not that he'd known the spell at the time. He, in fact, still had the parchment into which that concealment charm was enchanted, and he expected to use the parchment quite a bit next year. The Marauder's Map was a real-time, subjectively accurate map of the Hogwarts grounds and all its occupants. But, unless you knew the password, it looked like an old and empty piece of parchment. Harry remembered once Snape had once tried to gain the Map's secrets by the simple expedient of demanding that it reveal them. Harry would be a tad more clever.

Pressing his wand up to the next ward, he said, "I, Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Man-Who-Won, Death Eater High Inquisitor, and Wizengamot member, declare that I know you hide a pristine house and well cared for gardens. Show me what I know."

The sound registered before anything else. No longer was the night still. Atop a hill, in a house of quiet country dignity, were men and creatures shouting. The shouts were indistinct but carried the urgency of a disaster. Just after registering the commotion, Harry truly saw the house. The shutters no longer hung from the windows but were spelled solid, and Harry saw gargoyles, which hadn't been visible at all before, prowling the roof and perching on the various chimneys. The front door had no smashed windows but instead was a solid stone face guarded by trolls and a deep porch with snarling furniture arranged in a maze. Instead of a picket fence with holes in it, a large ten-foot high stone wall circled the property with upward pointed spikes ever half-foot. That abandoned cusp of trees was actually a cove of three Whomping Willows. They weren't like the one at Hogwarts, either. These were old, and already stretching their roots and readying themselves for invaders. The stables, whose roof had looked as if it had caved in, now looked as if it were tiled with fresh slate. Its doors, though, were open. Harry suspected that they'd recently housed monsters.

Then Harry heard other sounds. The five wizards behind him gasped or whistled or in other ways appreciated the danger they were about to face.

"Well," said the rooster-headed Auror, Williamson, behind him, "They have been waiting for us for over a year."

"It looks like," said Ron.

Harry felt around for the last ward. Despite the fact that the smell of garbage had become more aggressive, the last ward was nothing more than a repulsion ward, making sure that anyone who got close to the house felt as if he wanted to run away. This ward had already failed its caster. Still, for psychological ease, Harry put his wand up against this ward too. 'We're already here and we're not going anywhere. We _want_ to be here,' he thought. With a sound like a child blowing a raspberry, this ward too fizzled.

"We're clear," Harry said.

Templeton took control directly. "Anyone try to apparate or portkey out, Samantha?"

"Two at the beginning, ma'am. None now. They seem to know that we've caught them good."

"Okay. March!" Serene Templeton put her wand above her head and started forward. The others walked behind her in a triangle formation, Harry on her closest right.

There was no new movement up at the house. Whatever defences they'd planned were all up and set. Williamson was right; they had been planning this defence for a long time. But this team had broken been together a while and broken better defences than this. They'd punctured the Jugson place, ambushed the Carrow siblings and Macnair, and ferreted out Dolohov in Ireland. They'd even broken back into Azkaban, which a veritable army of Death Eaters and Snatcher had made their home. This place, however well defended, shouldn't be a problem. And yet, Harry still felt nervous. There was still something wrong.

It took him half a dozen steps to notice that the smell of garbage hadn't gone, it had simply changed. It smelt like rotten earth, like inferii, like an hour after a big battle. Then Harry heard it, the whooshing of the an invisible but unmistakeably big something. The sound of the Killing Curse. The curse had missed him enough times, and hit him twice. He knew its sound well. With a staggering half-leap forward, Harry grabbed the back of Templeton's robes and hauled her bodily backwards.

"Potter!" she shouted, "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life. There's a Death Ward somewhere here." The Death Ward had been well behind their other wards, far enough to make them confidant. "Clever bastards." The others quickly formed behind him.

Harry inched forward, every step he took filling his ears with more whooshing death. He very carefully kept his hands out before him too. They could cut off a hand or a leg if he stepped too far forward. Cutting off his head sounded unpleasant. It seemed to take forever, and, by the time he found it, he was dripping sweat. The edge of the ward reminded Harry of three long years ago, standing with Dumbledore on a small Island and facing a sea of dead bodies. Harry licked his lips.

Pushing his wand against the ward, there was no search for its meaning. This wasn't like the like the concealment or repulsion wards and even less like the shield ward. There were no exception, no subterfuge, no wiggle room. This ward was like the alarm. It had only one purpose: to kill any who crossed it. Not for the first time, Harry was troubled by how well the Death Eaters knew Death. They understood death and they meant it. This ward would not be easily surmounted.

Harry slipped his honey coloured wand into his open sleeve and into the sheath sown into most Wizarding robes.

"Harry?" Ron asked.

Reaching down and into a hidden pocket of his cloak, Harry pulled out another wand. This one looked as if honey and milk had been swirled. Even more unusually, it had runes carved into its skin, little glyphs that neither Harry nor the much more learned Hermione had yet been able to fully decipher. The wand was different and all six of them felt it.

"Harry?" Samantha asked.

Of the party, only Ron and Neville had seen this wand, and only Ron knew what it was. Harry Potter had taken this wand off of Lord Voldemort when he'd finally killed the man. And though Neville knew it as Voldemort's wand, the whole company would have known it under another name. The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the Elder Wand, all proper names trailing blood through history. It was the most powerful wand Harry had ever held. He almost never used it, and winced even now at its cold, metal-like power. The more he hid it, the less likely someone would try to win its allegiance from him. Like Dumbledore had wanted for himself, Harry intended to die the master of the Deathstick and thereby, he hoped, break its power.

But first, he had to survive. And that meant breaking this ward. He walked back and forth across the face of the ward, getting a feeling for its shape. The others stayed silent. A Death Ward wasn't like the others. A mistake was – well – fatal. The ward itself rippled inward every time he got close, like a boxer feinting his opponent, trying to make him overextending himself. Harry had no doubt that if he followed the shrinking ward it would spring immediately out again, killing him.

He couldn't break it with Idea Magic. 'Kill everything' had no constituent parts. Simple and brutal, there was no way to puncture or avoid it. He'd have to try a counter-curse directly. Here his old potions master was again his friend. Snape had left Harry all of his possessions, including an extensive, rare, and well annotated library. With a wave of his off-hand, a book from that library appeared opened to what he hoped was the right counter-curse. Reading a paragraph or two – yes, that was it. He dropped the book and it disappeared back to his library before it had half fallen.

With movement so sudden his companions shouted, Harry plunged the Deathstick into the ground directly into the middle of the line that invisibly marked the contours of the Death Ward. The ward tried to retreat from Harry's sudden movement forward, but it wasn't fast enough, and, as soon as Harry's wand punctured the ground over which the ward lay, the magic wriggled like a pinned insect. He would have to work fast. Already he could feel the ward's magic seeping through his wand and up his arm, causing spasms and a noticeable discolouration. Soon the decay would start.

" _Hoc_ s _patium abluis. Ante me mortis recedit._ "i

The ward thrashed before him, almost yanking his body forward, trying to eat Harry. The force made him stumble so that his right knee crashed into the ground. From balancing on one knee, he sank to both. It would take much stronger magic to pull him forward thus steadied.

" _Hoc_ s _patium abluis. Ante me mortis recedit._ "

The ward thrashed even harder, and Harry felt his muscles burn but he refused to move. The air around him started to brighten, lighted by a Killing Curse green that wafted from the ground. Harry said the incantation again and there was a ripping sound like pants stretched too far. The ward thrashed again, its sides groping towards where Harry kneeled. He shouted the incantation and the ward's appendages stopped in a circle around him. He shouted the incantation again. The ward started to thrash, its movements more erratic. No longer was it aiming to end its attacker. It now sought retreat. Harry shouted the incantation again and the ward buckled. He shouted it again and the ward spasmed. He shouted it again, and the ward flailed. Another two shouts and the ward lay still. He lowered his voice and repeated the incantation thrice more. The rising motes of green light had stopped and Harry sagged back. The ward was gone.

"Yo-your arm, Harry."

Neville kneeled behind him, pointing at a green and pustular thing which took Harry a moment to register as his wand arm. He stood quickly, too quickly, and bent double in a cough, his vision swirling. The cough was wet and convulsive, racking his whole body and churning his stomach. It lasted a full minute and left him on his knees. Eventually, his own spasms ended. His chest burned and, bringing his hand away from his mouth, he saw blood.

"Harry?"

"I'll need a Blood-Replenishing."

Standing again but slowly, Harry switched his wand into his off hand and traced a line from the base of his palm to his elbow. A slit in the flesh brought forth blood and a thick goop the colour of snot. He drank the potions pressed to his lips by Neville. Then he jabbed his wand into the uppermost part of the slit, by his elbow.

" _Hoc_ s _patium abluis. Ante me mortis recedit!_ "

His arm jerked and Harry really did throw up this time. When he stood yet again, there was another Blood-Replenishing potion at his lips. He tried to ignore the way it burned down his throat. Poking his wand back into his elbow, he shouted the incantation again and his arm convulsed again. But already colour was returning. The fluid that oozed from his wound was now mostly blood. He shouted the incantation twice more, and his arm looked normal. Pulling his wand from his elbow to his palm, the wound closed with a sound like a zipper.

Harry spit three times on the ground to get the taste of bile and potion out of his mouth. It didn't work. Looking around at his companions, Williamson and Templeton calm, the other three ashen faced, he smiled. "Shall we carry on?"

"Follow me!" And Templeton raised her wand again, continuing the march forward.

The next obstacle in their way was mundane and did not last long. The ten foot stone wall might have seemed impressive to muggles, but Templeton merely levelled her wand at the structure and, tracing a line from one side of her body to another, fifteen feet of it disappeared in a moment. The spectral dogs that bounded out from the hole she'd made, though, were no so easily destroyed.

Gytrash were common to Northern England and were as loyal as any dog but many times as dangerous. They looked like jet-black German Shepherds but weighed over two-hundred pounds and had eyes like burning coals and fangs as sharp as a shark's. They were fast too, the first one landed on Templeton before any of the wizards could react. Her outstretched arm was the only thing that saved their leader from a bite to the neck.

Her blasting curse shot the dog off into the wall that remained and Harry reacted. Pointing the Deathstick – only now did Harry realize he was still using it – at the wall, a cage leapt forward out of the stone, encircling the monster. Unfortunately, someone else had decided to curse the dog, and a blasting curse collided with the bars of Harry's transfigured cage, obliterating them. The dog bounded out again, straight towards Harry, who raised his wand but was saved from acting by a second blasting curse, which shattered the creatures neck. Without a whimper, it died.

He turned back just long enough to see that it had been Ron who'd saved him before they were both running towards the sound of fighting. The others had already put down their Gytrash and were now engaged with two animated sculptures, a snake and a bear. The bear was chasing Neville around in a circle while taking constant punishment from Samantha while both Templeton and Williamson took shots at the snake, which danced around the spells but kept its distance.

"Wish you were still a parselmouth. _Confrigo_!"

"You think it works on enchanted statues?"

"Worth a fucking shot – _Confrigo_ – shit!" Both spells had sailed over the bear's back.

Harry slid onto his knees to get his aim just right. " _Depulso!_ " Harry's banishing charm caught the bear, lifted it up, and rocketed it straight towards the manor. Even from distance, they heard the crash of it careening through a wall and its roar of aggravation. "Let it be their problem for the moment."

The six of them working together quickly pulverized the snake. No matter how fast it tried to dance away from their spells, six wizards casting were several too many. As one, Harry and his companions walked through the hole in the wall. No sooner had they stepped through than spells started raining down on them. The spells came from the top floor of the manor and, at this distance, were poorly aimed. Still, Harry thought, as a spell almost struck Williamson in the head, luck had no loyalty.

"Blasting curses back at them, I think." Templeton smiled and a chorus of ' _Confrigo_ ' sounded in response. Very quickly, the spells stopped coming from the manor. "Halt. Okay, we follow Williamson's strategy. I don't want to go through the front door if possible. Potter, Weasley, the sky is yours. I want green sparks when you've cleared it. We'll come in from the top. Our feint will be the Whomping Willows. Go!"

As the four of them marched across the yard, Ron turned to Harry. "Ready?"

For the first time tonight, Harry smiled. There was nothing like flying. Reaching into the front pocket of their cloaks, Harry and Ron both pulled out a shiny, straight broomstick. The brooms were quite similar, both fresh and straight. Ron's was gold and Harry's silver, and if one were to look closely, he could read the words 'Firebolt' emblazoned at the front of Ron's and 'The Dragon' across the front of Harry's.

Ron scowled at him playfully. "Even when I'm working my arse off, you still have a better broom than I do."

As one, they shot into the air and towards the manor house. Below, they saw the first beads of colour light the dark grounds towards the Whomping Willows. The others had engaged. Long ago, both Harry and Ron had flown a car into a young Whomping Willow on the grounds of Hogwarts. The energetic tree almost killed them. The trees below were older and nastier, and, as far as Harry could see, none of his companions were using fire. He shouted to Ron, asking him why this was, but the wind flapped across their faces so fiercely that he could barely even hear himself. Too soon, they were over the manor and among a swarm of gargoyles, all of whom had taken flight.

Harry came in hot, dodging the first gargoyle by inches. Banking left to avoid another one, he pointed his wand at a third and transfigured the stone creature into water, which then fell like a rock. He performed a textbook sloth grip roll to avoid another gargoyle but took a fifth to the shoulder as he tried to navigate the increasingly dense cloud. Thinking _'Depulso'_ , he knocked several away from him, and, rocketing into a somersault, he pointed his wand at a gargoyle which had been trailing him. The creature shattered at Harry's blasting curse.

The manoeuvring became chaotic after that. Harry would dash into or out of a cloud but could never quite shake them all. Every so often, he'd banish a whole group, trying to regain room to manoeuvre, all the while quite regularly being forcibly battered by any creature that could catch him. They were all small and fast, and though a hit from them hurt less than most bludgers, even after obliterating a half dozen, they were still everywhere. His only consolation was that they hit each other more often than they hit him. They hit each other so often, in fact, that several had started fighting amongst themselves.

Harry laughed as he shot upwards, out of a circle that tightened around him, forcing them all to crash into each other again. He checked on Ron with a glance before he was forced to perform another sloth grip roll to avoid a triad of gargoyles. Ron was on the roof, having transfigured for himself a metal beaters' bat. As Harry looked, Ron beating one gargoyle into another before blasting a third's head off. Whooping in support of his friend, Harry had taken his eyes off his surroundings for a mite too long. A gargoyle crashed into his back.

His broom twirled like a thrown bottle, and Harry just barely got his hands under it to avoid crashing into the roof. Another gargoyle tried to tackle him as he flew shakily upwards. The creature half-missed, unable to get a hold of him but smashing into his leg with enough force to snap his ankle. The first gargoyle, which was still clinging to his side, chose that moment to ram its head into his stomach. The second gargoyle flew back but Harry blasted him apart. The first gargoyle had clamoured up Harry's body and was pressing his wand arm across his body, trapping it. It crawled forward and tried to pry Harry's wand from his hand, its coarse fingers leaving bloody scrapes behind. Yet another gargoyle hit him from behind, wrapping its hands across his throat and pressing with dangerous strength.

Harry reacted, acting as if the gargoyles were humans. He flung his head backwards, trying to knock free the gargoyle choking him. He got a headache and no progress for his trouble. He needed his wand, but the first gargoyle had that pinned. He flew sideways into a chimney, but that did nothing except push the first gargoyle further into his stomach. He couldn't breath. His vision was starting to blacken.

Harry flew straight up, thinking rapidly and trying to keep his wand from being pried from his hand. He clamped down his broom-arm over the tip of his wand, trying to keep it in place. He wondered who would win the Elder Wand's allegiance if this gargoyle took the wand.

Harry flew around his centre like a well twisted top. The gargoyles were not dislodged. He needed to whip his wand about and blast away these gargoyles. Another flew into his back, acting like a bludger, and almost knocked him off his broom and into eighty feet of open air. His wand still pressed tight again his broom-arm and his wand-hand felt like a lava flow under the scratching of the gargoyle. He needed to aim his wand at those he wanted to curse, and all it was doing was pressing against his broom arm. His arm...

Like before, just after he'd disenchanted the Death Ward, Harry spelled an arm again. Also like before, his arm convulsed. This time, though, he wasn't purifying a wound but transfiguring his muscles. He took his arm off of his broom and reached backwards to the gargoyle choking him. Grabbing it around its throat, he squeezed. The gargoyle split in half, its neck reduced to fine powder. Harry breathed and felt invincible. With a punch at the second gargoyle, Harry freed his and-arm in another shower of fine powder.

Harry reeled his broom around and blasted the gargoyle that was coming around to act again as a bludger. Most of the other gargoyles were rolling through the air or about the roof, fighting amongst themselves. Some were still around Ron. Harry looked down at his friend and winced. With a quick turn, Ron smacked two gargoyles apart simultaneously. That didn't, however, stop the third gargoyles from sinking its teeth into his non-beater arm. Ron howled, and, swinging at the attached gargoyle, struck himself instead. He howled again. Harry turned the gargoyle to water, and the few gargoyles who remained against them tried to fly away.

"Thanks mate," Ron said as Harry landed landed.

"No problem," Harry panted. "Let's try not to do that again." Ron snorted. "Water?"

Ron looked at a wet spot on the roof where Harry's last transfigured gargoyle had fallen. "I think I've had enough water, thanks."

"Get rid of the others fighting, will you? I'll send up the sparks and then I need to fix my ankle."

All those things done in about as much time as it took to say them, Harry and Ron stood around to wait.

" _Accio Firebolt_ " incanted Ron, only to let out a breath of relief as his broomstick came out of the dark, several twigs askew but otherwise unharmed, and stopped just before him to hover at the proper height for mounting. Both Harry and Ron tucked their brooms back down into their pockets.

"Why do we always get the insane assignments?" Ron asked.

"Would you rather we fought the Whomping Willows? I seem to remember doing so incredibly well against the last one."

"But we were babies!" Ron whined in that voice he always used to make Hermione go a touch mad. "I bet it'd be easy now. Plus, don't you want revenge?"

"Oh yes. One Whomping Willow attacked me as a child and now all must die."

"Spoilsport," Ron muttered.

"So you've said."

Whatever either of them would have said next was interrupted by the arrival of three other figures on brooms. Two women and a man landed on the roof, and Harry felt a shard of ice pierce his stomach when he saw who was missing.

"Neville?"

"He's fine, Potter," said Templeton as she looked around the roof. "It's just a dislodged eye and a some arm trouble. I set him up with a portkey. He's probably back at the Ministry by now."

Harry's stomach cleared. To lose Neville to the Death Eaters, especially the last of them, would have been unacceptable. Harry felt himself sit down against the chimney. He suddenly felt woozy, worse even than just after breaking the Death Ward.

"So," Ron started, interrupting Harry's discomfort with purpose, "Do we think they're still in the top floor? And how do we go in?"

Both Williamson and Samantha spoke simultaneously and stopped to let the other speak. Williamson motioned for Samantha to speak first, and she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement.

"I think we should set up some basic wards and then simply vanish our way down."

Barely waiting for her to finish, Williamson disagreed, "We know they were earlier on the top floor. I think they'll be expecting us and will have set up defences like those we went out of our way to avoid through the front door. If we come in sideways, say on the third floor, they won't be expecting that."

"Weasley?" asked Templeton.

"Even if going straight down is expected, they won't know when we attack. We just need to plan the first assault well, yeah?"

"Potter?"

"I'm with Ron and Samantha. Get me before them. There's only three. I'll be able to take them out."

"Remember, Potter, we don't want them dead."

"I'm the one who came up with that, thanks."

"Okay, then. For the after-report, I side with Williamson, but three to two wins it. Beamish, you set up the repulsion ward. Potter, you set up the shield. Williamson, Weasley, and I will conjure what we can – cats, so they land properly if they lose their footing. Beamish, Potter, when you're done, spell up individual shields so I know."

" _Protego Horribilis._ " His casting was fast and decisive. Harry attached his blanket shield to several of the chimneys., in hopes of strengthening the defence. Chimneys, after all, protected the house from the smog of a fire. The Idea similarity would not support his spell as well as carving hewn stone or steel, but it would do in a pinch. Plus, it would give him greater freedom to vanish

" _Protego_ ," Harry said, forming an almost liquid sphere of blue around Ron and himself.

He looked about the roof and there were several prowling felines. In a sort of serendipitous mirror, three of the felines were wrestling with each other up against the largest of the five uneven chimneys. His partners still incanted, and, as Harry watched, a small ball plopped itself out from the end of Ron's wand only to unfurl into a ginger cat. Harry smiled when he saw that it looked like Crookshanks, Hermione's half-kneazle pet. Another shimmer, and Beamish had set up the repulsion wards. With a swipe, Harry conjured the last cat, a large, black furred and evil eyed creature that hissed at them all as it shimmered into being.

"Okay. Potter, I want you to vanish the roof. Not what we're standing on, if you please. On the count of three."

Harry could tell that Templeton, no matter how experienced, felt the bite of nerves. She was breathing more quickly and she'd licked her lips. Focusing on her outward signs of anxiety was the only thing that stopped him from being consumed by his own. Even still, he wiped his slick hands on his ropes.

"One," and Harry raised his wand, "two," and Harry took that deep breath, the full body sigh necessary for any strong magic. "Three!"

" _Evanesco Totalum_!" Most of the roof vanished, leaving only a small sliver on which Harry and his companions stood.

Before Harry could take stock of what lay before them, he heard reverberating gongs like hail on a tin roof as scores of he knew not what slammed into his shield. The first thing he saw was bright green. By instinct, he threw himself sideways. Death swooped on his left by inches. He heard overlapping screeches as whatever animals their enemies had conjured engaged with their cats. He saw another flash of green and, his deeper vision finally resolving, a furniture stuffed library.

Harry jumped. With a thought and a burst of magic, he careened to the far side of the top library. Another flash of green flew towards him, but, with a twitch of his wand, a stuffed chair caught the death blast, bursting into flames. Distantly, Harry noted that the chair had looked exactly like Slughorn when the potions professor had hidden himself from Harry and Dumbledore. Harry swirled his wand around his head and all the furniture in the room lifted, bobbing about aimlessly. This irresolution lasted just as long as he and his companions remained untargeted. A killing curse swooped towards Samantha and a book case met it halfway, bursting apart, its pages flaming confetti. Harry landed on his feet with a light hop.

"Shit!" A harsh voice shouted from the room.

Only now could Harry made sense of the creatures in the room. There were two trolls, one of which lay bleeding on the ground. There were a series of animals all in various states of health and bodily integrity, and all fighting the animals that they had conjured. One particularly aggressive monstrosity, something that looks like an extra-large gorilla with four arms, massacred its way through the cats. Harry slashed his wand and shouting, " _Sectumsemmpra_ ", decapitated the creature.

"It's Potter!" shouted the same voice.

"We surrender! We surrender!"

"Fuck that! _Avada Kedavra_!" A happily bobbing sidetable immolated itself to fend off the attack.

With a jerk and a slash of his wand, the man who had cast the Killing Curse, Travers, was jerked upside-down by his right ankle and promptly deprived of his wand. Harry looked about. The last troll stood immobile, the far wall having grown over his arms and legs. The elder Nott had dropped his wand while the body of the younger brother Lestrange lay on the ground apart from its head. The enemy's animals likewise lay as torn, ripped, or obliterated corpses, while several of their cats still prowled about, including, Harry surprised himself by being happy to see, his devil-cat, the left-side of whose black fur was matted and dripping with blood.

Templeton jumped down from the roof herself, gliding down more softly than Harry had. She landed right before the two captured Death Eaters. "Mister Sebastian Nott and Mister Marcus Travers, you are under arrest by the Ministry of Magic, Minister Shacklebolt presiding. As Death Eaters known by previous conviction," here she nodded at Travers, who now lay on the ground having been dropped by Harry, "or the free-given testimony of three witnesses," here she nodded at Nott, "you will be taken in for questioning under both veritaserum and legilimency."

Harry lowered his wand and placed it in an inner pocket. Thinking of cop shows he'd heard – but never been allowed to see – as a kid, he parroted their punch line. "Take them away!" Only then did he realize he was surrounded by Purebloods.

i (purify this area. Death retreat before me)


End file.
